Chapter 22
“Right, let’s get down to business,” Hermione said, standing up, and Harry very gratefully gave up the attention of their small group to her. “Draco?”
Draco startled slightly, clearly still not used to being referred to by his first name. His cheeks went pink as he waved his wand and several pieces of parchment floated to each person.
Harry blinked in surprise. Neither had mentioned anything about paperwork to him. He frowned when Hermione placed a small vial on the table.
“Hermione,” he hissed. “Why’d you bring that?”
She avoided his eyes. “Okay, what you have before you are magical contracts, imbued with the power of a Wizard’s Oath,” she said, pressing on despite Harry’s splutters of indignation. “It’s really very similar to the contract I had you sign at the beginning of DA. Except, this time, the punishment won’t be some nasty pimples – it’ll be a fairly strong memory charm.”
“Did Marietta ever get rid of those pimples?” George asked interestedly.
Hermione frowned. “No. But the charm would have faded if she ever regretted betraying us.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Luna said mildly. “She found a glamour that can cover most of them last year.”
“I heard she moved to Germany before the war,” Dean commented.
“Brilliant,” Seamus muttered. “The rest of us were fighting a war – she was playing with makeup.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have left if you could have, Finnegan. We all would have.”
Draco waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s forget about Edgecombe. She and her family are alive and I’d say they’re better off than the rest of us. If your Gryffindor sensibilities are really that bad I can probably brew her something to fix it, but, for now, please return your attention to the contracts. Hermione has worked very hard on it.”
“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione smiled. “And Harry, stop frowning. The wind will change.” Most of the purebloods looked confused, but Luna just nodded seriously. Harry tried to de-crease his brow. Hermione continued, “I know that we haven’t really decided what we’re doing yet, but we’re an inch away from staging a coup. We will have to tell each other confidential and potentially dangerous information. We need protection. This contract simply ensures that if you decide to betray us, you’ll suddenly find yourself unable to do so.”
“If the memory charm is activated, you’ll forget everything from the moment you walked in this room. Everything, not just things to do with Potter and his trigger-happy wand,” Draco said plainly. “This is a serious commitment. If you do not wish to sign, please leave.”
“This is a vial of dove’s blood. If you sign with it, it’ll make the contract’s magic more binding,” Hermione explained.
Neville frowned. “That’s a darke object.”
Harry found eighteen eyes staring accusingly at him. He scratched the back of his neck. “Erm, technically, yes.”
Ron reached for the vial without hesitation, unbottled it and signed the contract. “I’m not so sure there is dark magic and light magic, anymore,” he said.
Draco looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean, Weasley?”
“I think more and more I’m starting to realise that magic is just a tool,” Ron shrugged. “You know, it can be used for good and evil. We call it dark magic because we see ways people could abuse it. But, you can use ‘light’ spells to do bad things too. Harry killed Voldemort with an expelliarmus. Hermione taught me how to kill the troll with wingardium leviosa in first year. Sirius died because of a stupefy. We teach those spells to kids. If you can do bad things with ‘light’ magic, why can’t we do good things with ‘dark’?”
Harry blinked. Ron very rarely voiced his opinion in large groups. Harry and Hermione knew he was brilliant, of course - he always knew what to say when Harry and Hermione got too passionate. He was their voice of reason – a quiet voice of reason amidst the chaos of Hermione’s brilliance and his own fiery emotions.
George clapped his brother on the back. “Always knew you had sense,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and revealing a label-less bottle of light brown liquid. He slammed it on the table. “Give me the quill.”
He signed before passing the quill to Hermione, who signed just as quickly.
“George, it’s not ready yet,” Ron complained, eyeing the bottle warily.
Ginny wrinkled her nose. “It better be better than the last time I tried it.”
“What is it?” Seamus asked curiously.
Ron blushed. “New Wheezes’ product. It a collaboration with Bertie Bott’s and Ogden’s.”
“Wow,” Neville said, picking up the bottle. “What’s it taste like?”
George grinned proudly. “Everything! All ickle Ronnie’s idea!”
“You mean it’s whiskey that has the potential of tasting like earwax or disappointment?” Draco asked. “Brilliant business idea, but no thank you.”
George rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Relax, Malfoy. Ogden didn’t want bad flavours associated with his brand. So, only the good Bertie Bott’s flavours.” He gestured at the parchments being signed around the table. No one had declined to sign yet. “Thought we might need something stronger than lager.”
“What on earth did I drink last night, then?” Ginny asked accusatorily. “It tasted like goblin’s piss!”
“That’s the idea,” George grinned. “Ogden’s recipe. Tastes like goblin’s piss for underage wizards and witches. Still alcoholic, though. Don’t know why he wouldn’t just make it non-alcoholic for the young ‘un’s…”
“Gamp’s law,” Hermione, Draco and, surprisingly, Ron, said at the same time.
Ron blushed. “I wondered the same thing,” he muttered. “Come on, Ginny, I’ll buy you a muggle whiskey. Luna?”
Luna smiled. “I’ll try the goblin piss, thank you. Maybe some water,” she said airily. Ron made his way to the bar, still as bright as a beetroot. Hermione smiled fondly after him. Ginny was still spluttering about being used as a guinea-pig.
Once everyone had signed their contracts – including Harry, after a few shots of sunshine, hot chocolate, and joy – Hermione pulled an empty vial from her bottomless handbag and a small knife from her sleeve.
“Jesus Christ,” Draco muttered.
Hermione ignored him and sliced her thumb open, letting seven drops of blood fall into the jar. “If you could all do the same,” she said. “Oh, and Harry, we need 14 drops from you.”
Everyone complied readily, but Draco muttered darkly, “Have you any idea about how many horrible curses can be cast with access to your blood?”
Harry shuddered, remembering Pettigrew’s cold voice in fourth year: “blood of the enemy, forcibly given, you will resurrect your foe.”
“It’s Hermione,” Seamus shrugged. “Worse thing she’ll do with it is make little voodoo dolls of us that make us study or be more organised.”
“I’ll have you know, I’d make an excellent Dark Lord … Dark Lady – Has there ever been a Dark Lady?” Hermione asked.
Ron put his head in his hands. “Let’s focus on changing the world first, okay love? Gender bias in dark overlords can wait.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but everyone knew the first thing she’d do when they got home would be to research it. She pulled out several plain gold rings and dumped the blood onto them. “These work like the coins we had in 5th year – it can display short messages,” she explained. “If you need to send a message, tap it with your wand and say it out loud. If you’re good at occlumency, you might be able to make a message mentally.”
“We’ll need headquarters,” Neville said.
Harry shrugged. “I guess we use the manor.”
“No, too obvious,” Ron said. “We need somewhere no one else could think of.”
The room was quiet as people thought. Draco cleared his throat nervously. “Erm – Malfoy Manor?”
There was a sharp intake of breath, but Hermione’s voice only slightly wavered as she said loudly, “It’s a really good idea, actually. Nobody lives there, and no one would expect us to use it, even if it becomes known that Draco’s on our side.”
Draco bit his lip. “If we use the kitchen, we don’t have to go through th - the drawing room,” he said quietly. Hermione nodded faintly as Ron squeezed her hand.
Harry rubbed his forehead. He really didn’t fancy going back there, but he could see the benefits. “Luna? ‘Mione?”
Luna smiled and calmly agreed. “As long as I never have to see the dungeons.”
Harry frowned. “Actually, Draco, that gives me an idea. Can we use the dungeons?”
The room went silent as Harry realised what he’d just asked. He bit his lip. “I’ll explain in a moment.”
“Yes, Potter, you can use the dungeons,” Draco said uncertainly.
“And – I mean, we got out…” Harry asked quietly.
Draco frowned. “I shouldn’t think so, provided whoever is standing guard doesn’t owe the captive a life debt,” he said pointedly.
Harry nodded. “Okay, so Malfoy Manor is HQ. Okay with everyone?”
As everyone agreed quietly, Harry refilled everybody’s glasses with a. wave of his hand. “I need to tell you all something,” he glanced at Neville nervously. “Bellatrix isn’t dead.”
The reaction was instantaneous. George’s glass splintered in his grip. Ginny punched a hole in the plastered wall. Luna put her head in her hands. Dean flushed an angry red and slammed his fist on the table as Seamus used his extensive vocabulary. Draco went deathly pale before going a very light green. Harry itched to hold his hand for comfort but refrained. Neville didn’t look surprised.
At Harry’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “I won’t believe it until I see a corpse.”
Harry nodded. He should’ve known as much himself. When silence returned, he said tiredly, “I can’t tell you how she survived. But she’s in the forbidden forest. I don’t know how alive she is exactly. She could be anywhere between a barely moving corpse and a fully functional Death Eater – maybe even saner, and cleverer than we knew her.”
Harry took a sip of his whiskey – now tasting oddly of pizza, an effect that was surprisingly pleasant. “We can’t tell the Ministry.”
No one asked why. Although no one had said anything directly, they all knew that Greyback hadn’t offed himself. They needed information, and Bellatrix was the way to do it.
“When you’re done with her, Harry, …,” Neville trailed off.
Harry frowned. “Are you sure, Nev?” he asked quietly. “You’d be a murderer.”
Neville looked pained but nodded. “For my parents.”